"Emmanuel is also dead," said Agapit, in a low voice.
"Emmanuel,—good, kind Emmanuel,—the beloved of all the village; not so—" and she painfully lifted her head and stared at the second prostrate figure.
The men were all standing around him weeping. They were not ashamed of their tears,—these kind-hearted, gentle Acadiens. Such a calamity had seldom befallen their village. It was equal to the sad wrecks of winter.
Rose's overwrought brain gave way as she gazed, and she fell senseless by Charlitte's dead body.
Agapit carried her to the house, and laid her in her bed in the room that she was not to leave for many days.
"This is an awful time," said Célina, sobbing bitterly, and addressing the mute and terrified Bidiane. "Let us pray for the souls of those poor men who died without the last sacraments."
"Let us pray rather for the soul of one who repented on his death-bed," muttered Agapit, staring with white lips at the men who were carrying the body of Charlitte into one of the lower rooms of the house.